Blackbirds
by Crazee Canadia
Summary: Watch them as they fly. Watch them as they drop their feathers. Now come back to your senses. oOo A different kind of story that I'm trying out. May have some slight pairings. Other warnings are disturbing things or ideas, slight OOCness. Please read if interested, and feel free to leave a constructive review. oOo
1. Chapter 1

****Warnings: Possible OOCness, disturbing things and ideas, and the like. If this is not your taste, feel free to hit the back button and move on. If you like, keep reading when I add another chapter. Feel free to leave critique as well. Enjoy. ****

* * *

Graveyards. What is there to say about graveyards?

One could probably list only three things.

They're full of dead people.

They're dull and dreary.

They have a stereotype of being associated with Halloween.

Those things are true, yes. But has anyone considered them to be anything else?

Probably not.

It's hard to think anything else about a plot of land full of dead bodies, rotting corpses, and skeletons. But, that's what normal people think.

Rosalina, on the other hand, was not a normal person.

* * *

"It's sad, that we have lost a sweet gentleman of the city," Rosalina's eyes closed as she sighed, folding her pale hands against her chest, "but we need not to mourn for long. Mister Bonnefoy is no longer suffering from his depression, and is happily reunited in the afterlife with his sweet wife, Emily."

Turquoise irises darted around the gathering, watching all the attendees as they sat and listened to her. The man's grandchildren in the front sniffled and hiccupped, one boy rubbing his nose violently with his blazer sleeve. Behind them, the man's own children sat with their spines straightened. One of his daughters dabbed at her eyes, his son stone faced and attempting to keep his composure. The other daughter looked at the ground, shoulders shaking as she proceeded to cry. Friends of the diseased male nodded in agreement with the platinum blonde, a few adding to the symphony of mourning.

"Of course, sadness is a natural feeling when we lose something dear to ourselves. That may not be much, coming from a funeral director and overseer of Gusty Garden Funeral Home. But I feel your pain, each and every one of you." She rubbed at her eyes, letting the black lace of her sleeves irritate them.

Mock sadness.

Inside, she was scoffing at the sorry crowd, glad that she charged for boxes of tissues.

"If anyone else wishes to speak about Francis, please, feel free to do so." She invited, holding her arms to the audience as if beckoning someone to speak. Her smoothed lips curled into a sad smile, an attempt to hold back a disgusted sneer she wanted to make at the idea of someone else trying to form cheesy sentences in between annoying sobs and blowing noses.

Thankfully, no one wanted to stand up and talk.

"Well, if we have no other words to say, let's put this man to rest." Rosalina stepped down from her podium, turning away from the crowd to roll her eyes and huff. She questioned when this would be over, and how long it would be until every relative and friend of the old coot would leave.

* * *

"Mm hmm hmm hmm!" Giggles emanated from a dug-up grave, fancy rings and cuff links set aside in the grass, soon joined by a pendant the dead man had treasured so much.

Rosalina's dirt covered head appeared, sighing as she looked over the old man one more time, "It's silly how many of you bastards think it's wise to be buried with so many valuable things." She sneered, slamming the upper coffin lid closed, standing on it so she could also close the bottom half. "Don't they know it will rot with their bodies and become ruined with their skeletons?"

She heaved herself from the grave, jumping up and brushing herself off before snagging the nearby shovel, "I'll let you return to your dirt nap now, Bonnefoy." Rosalina hummed, carelessly swishing in her first spade full of cold dirt.

It was the second part of her routine that she hated.

She inwardly cursed how much work all this was, but then reminded herself of all the benefits she earned from her deeds. She could already feel the warm fuzzies of seeing her bank account increase in numbers, estimating her haul from the old man to be worth about five fifty.

Just as she was about to finish filling the grave, a black bird fluttered down and landed next to her small pile of loot. Snarling, Rosalina threw a fistful of dirt and the animal, "Get lost, you squawking rat."

The bird flinched at the dirt, jerking its head around to look at her. It cocked its head, opening it ebony beak to let a small chirp sound.

"I said get lost!" She kicked at the bird, "You don't have anything to do around here, go shit on some car."

Seemingly offended, the blackbird swooped its head around and knelt down to the pile. He pinched one of the man's rings in its beak, lifting it up and glaring back at Rosalina—as if it were taunting to take it.

The woman's eyes widened, "You drop that now. That's mine."

The blackbird crowed again before spinning around, taking a couple of leaps forward before jumping and flapping its wings, ascending into the air and away from the angered female.

"Hey!" Rosalina snatched a rock from the grass, throwing it after the bird, "Come back with that ring you piece of shit! _I said come back with that ring!"_

The bird flew on, up and over the line of dark trees on the other side of the graveyard wall.

Grumbling, Rosalina stooped down and snatched up the rest of the items, "Stupid birds...I hope he chokes on that ring and dies."

She stood up straight, hugging the items to her stomach before rushing away to the gate.

There was money to be earned.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning arrived as soon as Rosalina had closed her eyes.

Grumbling, she buried herself in the silky blue sheets, lazily figuring out what she had to do that day.

She already had someone looking to buy her recently acquired goods.

No one else had called her about a funeral.

Today was a day off, she figured. With a smile, she relaxed and began to drift back into sleep. In the back of her mind, she worked out a vague plan to talk her buyer into spending a little more money—doing things like bumping up the asking price on that pendant, offering to throw in something else if he was willing to cough up a few extra dollars, things of the like.

Within a few minutes, her mind had moved to the dream world. Fun dreams. Saucy dreams. Rosalina loved her dreams.

However, this one was a little bit…off, for her personal liking.

Everything was monotone. Blackened grass, pure white sky, stone shapes all around in deep tints of gray, nothing had color. She frowned in distaste, mentally strolling forward and glancing over the bits of stone that surrounded her. The way they were, however, it felt somewhat familiar. The shapes, the sizes, the textures, they reminded her of something. Something she should be able to recall with no problem.

Ah, yes, gravestones. They reminded her of gravestones.

It was strange, though. Never before had Rosalina been surrounded by gravestones in such a bland environment. She ran her fingers over one of the head stones she passed, sighing and glancing around.

"My dreams are more exciting than this." She whispered, resuming her stroll, "I feel bored here. It's…tranquil. Nice, but, not what I like."

Loud fluttering interrupted her thoughts. She spun around to look for the source of the sound, focus landing on a blackbird that was settled on the ground before her, jittering its wings and tweaking its head around.

In its beak, a small ring similar to the one that was taken from her in reality.

"Hey," Rosalina growled, storming to the bird, "I'd like that back, please."

The bird quickly flittered away from her. As it sprung into the air, its feet grazed her head, making the woman scream in panic before turning around to fuss at the creature some more.

"I should clip your wings off! Get back here with that ring!" She chased after the bird, "Come back! That's mine!"

The bird flew a little longer before gently swooping down towards the ground again, hopefully to roost on the grass. Rosalina shifted her focus from the bird to the area before her, bringing herself to an abrupt halt and gasping in surprise.

Many beaks lifted up to her. Many beady eyes blinked and stared at her. Many feathers ruffled.

Many blackbirds lay before her, gathered in a large circle that surrounded the first bench Rosalina had seen so far.

The bird she had been pursuing soon came down in the middle of the murder, joining the others in gawking at the woman with the ring still in its beak.

Rosalina's hands formed tight fists at her sides, "You just stay there, little boy." She growled, taking a single step forward.

_"Squawk!"_

Many wings started to work bodies off the ground, each flap resonating loudly with a sharp sound of cutting the air. It was hard for the blonde to see, suddenly, as the number of black birds rising before her blocked her field of vision—not a speck of white or gray, just black.

She fell onto the ground behind her in surprise, whimpering and watching as the birds circled up and around in the sky before taking off in various directions. It was shaped like a tornado, almost, what with the swirling and disappearing into the sky.

As soon as the birds took to the air, all of them were gone. Black feathers littered the grass, some falling onto Rosalina's knees.

Curling her lip, she shoved the feathers away, "Damn it." She stood, glancing forward at the mass of feathers in hopes of spotting the ring amongst the pile.

However, something else caught her eye instead.

A figure had appeared on the bench, sitting tall and proud on the wooden panels. Rosalina dared to approach, keeping her eyes locked onto the stranger, shoes kicking the feathers away as she walked.

Getting closer, her eyes began to register something she had subconsciously been dying to see this entire time—color. Something with color was sitting on the bench.

Nearing more and more, Rosalina relaxed even more when she was finally able to make out what the figure was.

It was a young woman, she judged, looking at her still baby-like face, brought forward by her copper colored strands that hung just above her shoulders. The same colored bangs that swooped over her eyes also made her sapphire irises glow—given a feeling of mischievousness with her light pink lips curled into a devious simper.

Rosalina was about to befriend the woman before glancing down at her hands, eyebrows furrowing as she saw the ring around the woman's finger.

"Mine, mine, mine, that ring is mine." The woman mocked, laughing loudly as Rosalina glared at her, "Give me that damn ring, you idiotic bird. I stole that from a dead man fair and square!"

"Do you mind? You're quickly getting obnoxious." Rosalina grit her teeth, "I'm well aware I stole that ring. But what use was it going to be sitting on a skeleton's finger?"

"Nothing, really," the woman replied, raising her hand to look at said jewelry, "but then again, what is the use of sticking a body six feet underground in a wooden box?"

"To put them to rest." Rosalina answered, ready to step forward and fight for the ring.

"So wouldn't it have been nice if the man was put to rest _with_ this ring?" The woman questioned, waggling her fingers, "The family said this was a very prized possession of his. Generally, in this area, when someone really treasures something, they're buried with it so it rots away with them. Stays with them."

"But that's a pure waste of gold and emerald." The other woman snapped, "It doesn't need to rot away, someone worked hard just to mine the materials and make that thing!"

"If that's the case, then aren't all things humans mine and harvest nothing but a huge waste?" The redhead questioned, "Like this bench. Iron and wood were used to make it. Yet all it does is sit here to serve as a resting place. Nothing more. And over time, it starts to get weathered, rots, rusts, and soon becomes nothing more than a pile of iron and wood."

"Well, the difference there is that a bench can be replaced," Rosalina argued, "and that ring cannot."

"What exactly makes emerald and gold worth more than wood and iron?"

"How much more effort it takes to get emerald and gold?"

"And it's just the effort?"

"Well, no, the rarity and amount of emerald and gold matters as well."

"So if something's rare, it's worth more?"

"Of course. If something is rare, your chances of having it are slim."

The red head chuckled, "I'm beginning to find your logic funny."

Rosalina narrowed her eyes, "Why is it funny? What point are you trying to make?"

"What I'm trying to say is this," the woman pulled the ring from her finger, "we humans are so focused on giving inanimate objects a money value, that we often forget about what really should have value."

"Wh-what…?" Rosalina cocked her head in confusion, "…wait, wait, wait, this is _my_ dream. Why do I have you telling me this kind of stuff?"

"Because," the woman stood from the bench, letting the ring drop to the ground, "you subconsciously know this. You just don't want to admit that you're being blinded by your greed."

Rosalina could feel the rage boiling in her chest, "You...you…I'm not greedy. I'm making a living."

"In the most heartless way possible," the woman added, turning to walk away, "I might return later. Just keep an eye out for me."

"What? Hey, hang on!" Rosalina began, reaching out and grabbing the silky material of the woman's coat, "I'm not done with you!"

Pulling the fabric back, she felt a sudden rush of cold air hit her body. She jumped, opening her eyes and looking at her hand, snarling at the sheet she gripped tightly in her fingers.

Slamming her fist on the bed, she sat up and glared at the wall, "That was the stupidest dream I ever had." She muttered.


End file.
